


the things we steal (it was only a kiss)

by DivineProjectZero



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, First Time, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 00:56:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4080421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivineProjectZero/pseuds/DivineProjectZero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy whips around to find Harry Hart standing right behind him, holding a martini glass and just as gorgeous as Eggsy last saw him, three years and two months ago. </p><p>Thankfully, Eggsy is too busy staring in shock to actually say anything in response, because Harry then says, "Excuse my poor manners. Harry Hart. And you are?" And then extends his hand, which is how Eggsy remembers that he's not supposed to be Eggsy Unwin right now; he's actually undercover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the things we steal (it was only a kiss)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [magic in your fingertips](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4701800) by [venvephe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venvephe/pseuds/venvephe). 



> Self-betaed and not Brit-picked. All mistakes are mine. Constructive feedback is always welcome.
> 
> By the way, I totally imagined Idris Elba as Eric Stacker (Eggsy's cover in this fic) and yes, the name is a Pacific Rim reference.
> 
> EDIT: I wasn’t able to divulge where most of the inspiration and brainstorming for this fic came from when I originally published it because I feared that it would give away the game of exactly what AU Jill was writing about, but now I can happily credit [venvephe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/venvephe/pseuds/venvephe) and her amazing [magic in your fingertips](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4701800) for laying the foundation of this fic. Even though I ended up publishing my own HP AU story before Jill was able to publish hers, there’s no doubt that my fic happened only because I thought it up while supporting the creation of what I am firmly sure will be a legendary fic in our fandom.

In the mirror is a tall, black man with broad shoulders and chiseled features. 

"This is so fucking weird," Eggsy says, looking at his borrowed face and shuddering a little at how even his _voice_ is different. He turns and blinks at the new angle he has of Merlin's head. "I'm so fucking tall."

"Indeed," Merlin says, and shoves an embossed invitation into Eggsy's new hands. "You have five hours before the Polyjuice Potion wears off. You remember your directives?"

"Infiltrate the gala, get chummy with Valentine, find out where his next charity event is held, plant the tracker on him,” Eggsy recites. “You know, I thought I’d get to blow up more stuff when I became an Auror. Or at least use my damn wand for something.”

Merlin makes a disapproving noise at him, shoving a new robe into Eggsy's long arms—fuck, this bloke is _fit_ —and taking a quick sniff. "You still smell like a hatchling Auror," Merlin sighs, and draws out his wand and mutters a quick spell that showers a mist of smoky moss and leather scent over Eggsy, sending him into a spluttering fit. 

"Oi, watch it!"

“Huh,” Merlin says after a sniff. “You still smell too much like yourself." 

“Like anybody’d notice what I smell like.” Eggsy scowls, pulling the robe on and glumly noting how the robe would drag on the floor if Eggsy wore this in his real body. "I get to be sprayed with air freshener, and Rox gets to break up a dragon-fighting ring."

"You're helping us get a lead to a potential smuggler of precious magical artifacts," Merlin reminds him.

"I hope Valentine is a really bad guy," Eggsy grumbles.

-

Turns out, Richmond Valentine is a really swell guy and has nothing to hide. He invites Eggsy's cover, Eric Stacker, to his charity event that’s happening next week at his manor within fifteen minutes of meeting him. Given that Eggsy’d just spent two hours trying to sneakily familiarize himself with the eccentric millionaire wizard, he feels a little cheated by how easy everything turned out to be.

“You still want me to go to the fundraiser next week?" Eggsy murmurs so that his charmed brooch can catch his voice. "Pretty sure it ain't him."

"It's likely that it's someone from his circle. Folsworth and Braginsky are also on the suspect list, and Valentine mentioned that they're attending." Merlin instructs. "I'll make sure the real Eric Stacker stays on extended vacation."

"This better be worth it," Eggsy mutters.

"Auror work isn't all glamour and fun," Merlin says. "You're off-duty now. Get yourself a drink. You have about two hours until you change back into yourself, so make it home safely. Contact me if anything happens." Then, in a warmer voice: "Good job, Eggsy.

Eggsy didn't really do much at all, but the compliment takes away the sting of disappointment. He smiles, just a little. "Thanks, Merlin."

Now, Eggsy's on his own in a posh gala full of rich and famous wizarding folks, and he's got maybe an hour to drink some quality stuff before he gets out and turns back into a short, scrawny kid. Not that he's _that_ short or _that_ scrawny...but it's hard to measure up to the statuesque looks of his fake identity right now.

He heads to the small, sleek bar set up against one wall of the room and orders vodka to get himself started—thank fuck for free drinks, it’s the only redeeming part of this godforsaken snobbery festival—and feels a hand settle on his back just as the bartender slides the glassful of vodka over.

"You should try having a martini, they're fantastic with making those."

Eggsy whips around to find Harry Hart standing right behind him, holding a martini glass and just as gorgeous as Eggsy last saw him, three years and two months ago. 

Thankfully, Eggsy is too busy staring in shock to actually say anything in response, because Harry then says, "Excuse my poor manners. Harry Hart. And you are?" And then extends his hand, which is how Eggsy remembers that he's not supposed to be Eggsy Unwin right now; he's actually undercover.

"Eric Stacker," Eggsy says, smiling wide and shaking Harry's proffered hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hart."

"Please, call me Harry," Harry says, and his eyes flicker down and up, like he's checking Eggsy out. 

Eggsy's blood runs hot then cold, the rush of having Harry’s eyes on him doused by the reminder that Harry isn’t looking at Eggsy, but a mask.

“Then you should call me Eric,” Eggsy says, and it hurts to say it, a name that isn’t his, like glass shards tumbling down his throat. Hurts to see Harry’s eyes go warm and intimate, his smile stretching across lips that Eggsy’s been dreaming about since he was fifteen.

“It would be my pleasure,” Harry says. His voice _still_ gives Eggsy the shivers.

Fuck, Harry’s _flirting_. With Eggsy. Who is pretending to be somebody else. Looking at Eggsy the way Eggsy’s been wanting to be looked at, for five years now, but it’s not Eggsy Harry’s looking at. Harry’s looking at the tall, fit bloke with posh clothes that would be too big on Eggsy in his real body.

Eggsy feels suffocated in a skin that isn’t his, like an impostor with a mouthful of lies, and it’s terrifying, how he still can’t bring himself to leave.

“So what’s a handsome bloke like you doing here all alone?” He asks, because damn it all, he _wants_ this, even if only for a moment, to bask in Harry’s warm smile and attention. God, Eggsy is fucking weak. A weak, cowardly cheating liar, and he doesn’t even want to imagine how disgusted Harry would be by this.

“I’m hardly alone,” Harry says, raising his glass to his lips. “I have a charming conversation partner like you right here, do I not?”

Then he winks.

And fuck, fucking buggering shit, Eggsy is so, _so_ fucked.

“You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you?” Eggsy musters a bright smile, keeping a tight grip on his sanity and tongue, making sure he doesn’t slip back into his usual accent. “What do you do for a living? You’d make great money in sales.”

Harry finishes a long sip of his martini and sets the glass back down. “Well, I teach at Hogwarts. Defense of the Dark Arts.”

“Sounds exciting,” Eggsy says, even though he already knew this. He knows that Harry’s been teaching at Hogwarts for roughly ten years, now. That Harry used to be an Auror, too, been one of the very best until he’d suffered an awful injury and nearly gotten killed. He knows that Harry collects Chocolate Frog Cards even though he hates the frogs themselves, that Harry’s patronus is a tiny terrier that shines so bright that it could light up London, that Harry’d seen Eggsy’s dad die in the line of duty and never really forgave himself for not being fast enough to save him.

“I suppose,” Harry says. He has a faraway look in his eyes, and Eggsy takes the opportunity to drink him in, the very sight of him. His long fingers, hair still perfectly styled, glimpses of an immaculately tailored suit peeking out from under Harry’s robe, the lines on Harry’s face that Eggsy aches to trace with his fingers, his tongue. 

“Do you like it, teaching?” Eggsy asks, because he’d asked this, once, back in sixth year when he’d been sitting in detention and Harry—he’d always called him Harry in his head, ever since fifth year and Harry’d adjusted Eggsy’s grip on his wand, hands warm around Eggsy’s wrist, and Eggsy’d looked at the hollow of Harry’s throat and thought, _oh—_ had sat across from Eggsy and made him correct first years’ papers. Harry’d said _it’s hard to explain, perhaps after you graduate_ and had never answered.

Every unanswered question is a gaping hole in the tapestry that is Harry Hart in Eggsy’s head. He wants answers to all of them. Why does Harry avoid Moaning Myrtle at all costs? What does he sound like, when he’s been kissed out of breath? Who does he think of in the dark of the night?

And most of all: _could you love me? Could you love me back the way I love you?_

Harry smiles, a small curve of his lips that Eggsy’s missed for years, for long nights when Auror training wore him down to the bone and he yearned for Harry’s voice, fierce and longing, wanted to go back to the castle and get on his knees, surrender to Harry.

“I was terrified, the first day I started teaching,” Harry admits. “I’d never thought myself to be the nurturing type, and it all just seemed so…daunting. I’d never imagined myself as a teacher, and it all felt like a mistake. Some kind of disaster waiting to happen.”

The helpless quirk to Harry’s lips is something Eggsy’s never seen before. It’s like a knife to the heart. 

“But then I walked into the classroom and I loved every second of it,” Harry confesses, his voice low and private. “It makes me proud to see my students become better by the day.”

Eggsy remembers. Harry’s first year teaching at Hogwarts had been Eggsy’s first year as a student, too. He remembers Harry lighting up whenever somebody succeeded with a task, how he’d always smiled warmly at Eggsy for every new spell he learnt. Remembers the glowing feeling in the pit of his stomach, how he’d vowed to make Harry smile like that as much as possible, how he’d never slacked off on DADA assignments just to see Harry beam at him.

He remembers when the warm glow had grew, had burned hotter, had turned into lust and dreams of Harry pressing kisses into his skin. How Eggsy’d spent months thanking his luck for robes to cover unfortunate erections, pretending this was a phase, just a passing attraction.

He remembers when they’d learned the Patronus Charm, how he’d thought of Harry, a warm hand cupping Eggsy’s nape, saying _it’s alright, I’ve got you_ , and how the lion had burst from his wand in blinding white light. How Harry’d smiled at him, full of pride, and Eggsy’d realized that for better or worse, he was in love with him.

He remembers his last day at Hogwarts, his words dying in his throat, Harry’s hand heavy on his shoulder. How Harry’d said, y _ou’ll make a great Auror, I’m so very proud of you, you’re one of my best students._

That’s all Eggsy was. A student.

“You must care about your students very much,” Eggsy says, and his words sound empty. 

“I do,” Harry says. He traces the rim of his glass with an idle finger. He leans in closer, and Eggsy’s insides tremble at the familiar scent of cedar wood and musk. “Sometimes, though, I hated teaching.”

It’s an intimate, secret confession. Eggsy leans closer and hates every inch between them, hates how he’s stealing secrets while wearing a face that isn’t his. Hates that Harry is letting a stranger into his private life, his secrets, the parts of him that Eggsy’s been coveting for so long but has never had a right to see. Still doesn’t, in fact.

“Why?” Eggsy pitches his voice low, murmuring into Harry’s ear. His fingers are inches away from Harry’s.

Harry leans a shoulder against Eggsy’s, and the shock of contact makes Eggsy’s toes curl. “Being a role model is hard work,” Harry says. “Teachers aren’t supposed to be causing trouble, you see.”

“Oh?” And Eggsy feels everything inside him fracture and crumble, because he’d rather have a stolen memory than nothing, because he doesn’t know how to save himself from drowning in the darkness. He’s spent too many nights thinking of Harry, and now he no longer remembers what it’s like, to think of anybody else in the dead of the night. “So what kind of troublemaker are you?”

There’s a sly slant to Harry’s lips, and when he touches the inside of Eggsy’s wrist, a searing touch against his pulse-point, Eggsy’s back in Hogwarts, his patronus roaring for the first time, his heart in his throat. Realizing that now there’s no coming back from what he feels, from this very moment.

“The fun kind,” Harry purrs, and hooks his fingers in the sleeves of Eggsy’s robe. 

-

They spend another thirty minutes flirting, fingers skimming across wrists and lips licked teasingly, before Harry casually mentions, “I live ten minutes away. Would you fancy a walk?”

And it’s only when the cool outside air hits Eggsy’s face that the dread crashes through him, plummeting to the bottom of his gut and splattering all over the insides of his ribcage. He feels chilled to the very bone. 

What is he doing? He’s lying to _Harry_ , to the man who believed in him when Eggsy’d been busted for stealing with his magic in the summer before his fourth year and had been taken to court at the Ministry of Magic. He’d stolen little things: food, medicine for his mum, books that he needed for school, things they couldn’t afford. Harry’d come vouching for Eggsy, had brought him back home to his crying mum and had told her that Eggsy’d been brave to try take care of the both of them, that he’d have a word with the Auror department about their support funds for deceased Aurors’ families.

Harry’d bought him his books and when Eggsy’d pitched a fit that he wasn’t a charity case, he’d just smiled and said _you’ve all the potential of the world, allow an old man his pleasures of watching you become a better person, Eggsy._

Eggsy’s betraying Harry’s trust, taking this from him without his consent, and shit, that’s all kinds of wrong right there.

But—Eggsy has only another hour to stay in this skin, like a child of ashes and cinder bewitched until midnight. It’s just one night, not even a night, but an hour, a stolen breath of time. Harry’s not even tipsy, he’s still fully consenting, but he wouldn’t be, if he knew who Eggsy really was—

“We’re here,” Harry says, stepping up to a door to a nice, posh flat, tapping his wand against the doorknob and undoing the protective wards around the building.

“So you don’t live in Hogwarts all year long?” Eggsy teases, instinctive but half-hearted, standing there.

“Of course not. Only eleven months out of the year,” Harry teases right back.

He turns to look at Eggsy, and he’s gorgeous, framed by the doorway, backlit by honey-warm light and smiling, soft and inviting. Eggsy loves him, more than he can put into words, and he _can’t_. He can’t do this to Harry.

“Harry, I,” Eggsy says, desperate, choking on his words.

“Come here,” Harry says. “Please.” 

He stretches a hand towards Eggsy, and Eggsy is powerless to resist. He takes a shaky step forward, then another, and Harry draws him in, closing the door behind Eggsy’s back so that Eggsy is trapped between the door and Harry. For once, Eggsy is taller than Harry, and he cherishes the sight of Harry looking up at him, the curl of his eyelashes, the shine of the dim light on his hair. Eggsy’s heart aches with how much he _wants_.

“Harry,” Eggsy whispers, and he wants to steal just a little more, only a kiss, only a moment more, but heaven help him, he hasn’t stolen ever since that summer, and he can’t steal from Harry. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, and pushes Harry away gently, memorizing the widening of Harry’s eyes, carving the memory of his warm breath against Eggsy’s cheek into his core. He wraps a hand around the door knob.

Harry is never going to know how madly Eggsy is in love with him.

Eggsy steals just one more moment. Looks Harry in the eye. “I love you.” _Too much to do this to you._

He wrenches the door open and stumbles outside. Runs away.

-

Eggsy Apparates to his small one-bedroom flat as soon as he’s a good few feet from Harry’s doorway, collapses onto the small, dingy couch he keeps in the tiny living room, and his skin feels too big for him, too foreign, his hands still burning from where they’d been touching Harry, pushing him away.

“Fuck,” Eggsy gasps against the cushions, like his lung’s been pictured, the word bleeding out of him. “ _Fuck_.” His insides are all jumbled up, and he’s dizzy with his daring, with how he’d held his heart in his stolen hands and spoken those words with a stolen voice. And god, he hates himself. For treasuring this stolen moment. For stealing it in the first place. For having not stolen more, for not having tasted those lips when he had the chance. 

“Harry,” he breathes out. The name is a blade in his mouth, splitting him open. Falling apart on the couch and he has nobody but himself to blame. “Harry,” Eggsy says again.

Even in a different body, his tears still taste the same. Salty, full of hurt.

-

He’s been in a daze, trembling on his couch and disoriented, when Merlin’s voice breaks through the haze of self-loathing and pining, sounding worried. “Eggsy? You there, lad?”

“Merlin,” Eggsy croaks. “Somethin’ the matter?”

“I could ask you the same,” Merlin’s voice says through the brooch. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Eggsy says, clearing his throat and trying to sound less pathetic in his borrowed body. He wipes his face with a sleeve of his robe and hopes nobody notices the snot when he returns it later.

After a moment of silence: “If you say so. You’re in your flat, aren’t you. Open the door.”

“What, you came to check in on me?” Eggsy stands and heads for the door, undoing his protective wards and sliding the lock open. “I didn’t drink that much, guv.”

Then the door swings open to reveal Harry Hart on his doorstep.

“May I come in?” Harry asks.

“Oh my god,” Eggsy says. Then, upon remembering that he’s still wearing Eric fucking Stacker’s appearance in Eggsy Unwin’s home, with distinctly more horror, “ _Oh my god._ ”

Harry manages to herd Eggsy back inside, shutting the door behind himself and locking it before looking back at Eggsy uncomfortably. “Well.”

“I don’t know what happened, but you two figure it out,” Merlin says. Then his voice is gone.

“Harry,” Eggsy says, because he doesn’t know how Harry’s here, doesn’t know how Harry even knew where Eggsy lives in the first place, but he’s never been so horrified in his life. “I can explain,” he says, then realises that’s a lie. He really can’t.

“Don’t,” Harry says, and not with a cutting edge like Eggsy expected, but a gentle kind of reproach. It still stings. 

Harry looks at Eggsy regretfully, and takes a cautious step forward. “I would like to explain, first.”

“Explain what?” Eggsy asks, distantly wondering if he could get away with Obliviating one of the greatest Aurors of his time.

Harry looks both chagrined and apologetic. “I knew it was you, Eggsy.”

“I,” Eggsy says. “What.”

“I knew it was you since I first bumped into you at the bar,” Harry confirms, his hands held out in front of him, like he’s placating a spooked animal.

“How?”

Now, Harry looks a little uncomfortable. “I…you have a nervous tic. You brush your knuckles over your throat when you’re nervous.” Then, with more reluctance, “And I could tell it was you by your smell.”

Eggsy’s jaw drops. “What, you and Merlin both—what exactly do I smell like?” And then he realises something more important. “And how the fuck do you know what I smell like anyway?”

There’s a melancholy downturn to Harry’s mouth, a sad look in his eyes, but he doesn’t flinch from Eggsy’s gaze. “Eggsy, my boy. I know you might not have,” and he breaks off. Falters. He tries again. “Whatever it is you feel for me, I need you to know that I—fuck, Eggsy, I’m terribly in love with you.”

There’s the sensation of the world tilting off its axis, gravity dissolving and the whole of Eggsy becoming unhinged, floating and unmoored. “Harry, don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“How could I not mean this?” Harry asks, and he takes another step closer. Gravity crashes back with a vengeance, Eggsy’s heart dropping back to earth, and he nearly breaks from the force of it. 

“Don’t—”

“Eggsy, you undo me,” Harry says. Eggsy forgets how to breathe. “I’ve been a fool for you since you returned from your last summer and smiled at me. I spent an entire year terrified of how easily you could rend me apart, and how I would gladly let you do so.” He stops, a scant few inches between him and Eggsy. “I never knew I could loathe being a teacher until I realized that I could never ask for your affections in good conscience, that you would never see me as more than one of your instructors. I spent three years reminding myself that you’d never come back to an old man like me. Eggsy, my darling boy, do you have any idea how it pains me so, to live a life without you?”

Eggsy struggles, remembers how to operate his lungs again.

“If it’s anything like what I’ve felt about livin’ without you, then yeah, maybe I do,” Eggsy says, and he feels like an avalanche, shaky and earth-shattering and ruined.

Harry cups Eggsy’s cheek with a careful hand. “I didn’t mean to, at first,” he says in a halting voice, “but you seemed interested, and—I didn’t mean to take advantage, but I thought you’d have your fun, and I’d get to pretend that you felt something for me, even if only for a night.”

“I wanted to, Harry. I want everything with you,” Eggsy says, desperate to make sure Harry knows, that Eggsy loves him, treasures him more than he can say. “But you deserve better than a bloke wearin’ someone else’s face.”

Harry’s eyes go soft, the way Eggsy remembers back from seventh year, and he can feel his feet under him again. Knows that Harry means everything he just said, that he’s got it just as bad as Eggsy does. 

“Then do I deserve you? You, just the way you are. My brilliant, brave, lovely _Eggsy_ ,” Harry says, and the way he says Eggsy’s name is an Amortentia all on its own, intoxicating and worth drowning in. “My boy, do I deserve you?”

“Everything you want from me,” Eggsy promises. “Everything I can give.”

He leans in for a kiss, but Harry covers his mouth with a palm and smiles. “I’d rather wait until you changed back into yourself, though.”

Eggsy stares—then laughs and laughs and laughs.

-

They move into Eggsy’s bedroom and talk about the little things, like exactly how long Eggsy’s been mad for Harry and how Eggsy’s mum and Daisy are holding up since Eggsy moved out to keep his work away from them.

Their robes are discarded on the floor, Harry’s suit jacket and clothes neatly folded on the dresser, and Eggsy’s borrowed clothes flung over the foot of the bed. They’re wearing nothing but their briefs, their bare feet entangled on the blankets as Eggsy shudders and feels his bones creak, his skin change back into his own. Harry holds him through it, tucks Eggsy’s head under his chin and lets Eggsy breathe in the scent of cedar wood until he feels anchored in himself again.

He lifts his head up to look at Harry, and Harry smiles. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” Eggsy says, breathless, and tilts his face up to meet Harry half-way for a kiss.

Harry kisses Eggsy open like a dish to be savored. He cups a large hand around the back of Eggsy’s neck, strokes a thumb over the skin under Eggsy’s ear and makes Eggsy sigh into Harry’s mouth. A wet tongue licks across Eggsy’s lips, coaxing them open, and Eggsy lets him in, takes Harry’s tongue between his teeth and sucks on it, challenges Harry to come take what he wants.

They kiss like that for a while, trading dominance, nipping at each other’s lips and tongue, lying on their sides and pressed against each other. It’s lazy and indulgent and perfect, the taste of Harry on Eggsy’s tongue, his chest pressed against Eggsy’s, Eggsy’s arms wrapped around Harry’s neck.

“Eggsy,” Harry rasps, and there’s the answer to what Harry sounds like when he’s been kissed out of breath. “Darling boy, I adore you just as you are.”

“You fuckin’ sap,” Eggsy says, as if the words don’t burrow right into his bones, light him up from the inside-out. 

“Only for you,” Harry murmurs, sliding his lips against Eggsy’s again, rolling them over so that Eggsy’s crushed beneath Harry’s weight, swallowing the terrible noises that escape Eggsy’s mouth. 

Harry smears a kiss across the corner of Eggsy’s mouth, follows the curve of his cheek with a tongue, and bites into the sensitive shell of Eggsy’s ear. It’s like being hit by a particularly nasty Stunning Spell, all of Eggsy’s limbs jerking as the sting of Harry’s teeth travels down his spine in a shockwave. It’s like Eggsy’s entire body has been violently, ruthlessly reminded that it exists, and now needs to be touched and paid attention to. He’s hyperaware of every inch of skin, of his leaking cock trapped in his briefs, of Harry’s thumb rubbing an electrifying circle around Eggsy’s hipbone. Of Harry licking into the hollow of Eggsy’s throat.

Understandably, it takes Eggsy a few seconds to realize that Harry’s talking, his tongue forming words every moment his mouth is unoccupied, sometimes even mouthing the words into Eggsy’s skin.

“You asked what you smell like, earlier. You smell like sandalwood and honey, like something I need to have for breakfast. You smell like something I should wake up to, like home, and it’s so very pretentious of me, I know, but Eggsy, I’ve never wanted to keep something as much as I long to keep you.” Harry lifts Eggsy’s arm and places a reverent kiss on the inside of his wrist, scrapes his teeth against the pulse-point. Long fingers trace up Eggsy’s forearms, his biceps, the curve of his shoulders and the line of his collarbone.

“When you didn’t button your shirts all the way and I could see you here,” and he sucks a bruising mark over the thin skin there, over Eggsy’s collarbone, “it drove me to distraction. Made me want to bend you over in front of your classmates.”

“You should’ve,” Eggsy gasps, back arching at the sensation of Harry thumbing his nipples. “Wanted you to, all the time. Wanted to spread my legs for you and have you fuck me til I couldn’t walk.” He demonstrates, spreading his legs, hooking them over Harry’s back, hips pushing up in offering.

“Oh, you gorgeous thing, what are you _doing_ ,” Harry groans. “Do you have any idea how devastating you are? I’m a selfish old man, my boy. I want parts of you that I cannot learn to share.” He slides a hand between Eggsy’s legs, presses a thumb to Eggsy’s arsehole through the cotton of his briefs, rubs right there so that Eggsy moans and tilts into the contact like a whore. “My beautiful boy, the things I want to do to you.” 

“Then _do_ them,” Eggsy says. He feels flayed open, with nowhere to hide, and he can’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else. 

Harry drags his mouth along the inside of Eggsy’s thigh, and he keeps biting words across his skin, about how Eggsy is so gorgeous and lovely, and there’s only so much that Eggsy’s heart can take before it fucking implodes from being spoiled like this.

“Look who’s talking. You’re a walkin’ wet dream and fit as fuck.” Eggsy catches Harry’s chin, makes him look straight into Eggsy’s eyes. “And you’re funny. Corny, sometimes, but that’s alright. I saw you hex a bloke six ways to Sunday for trying to ambush one of the Potter kids and the Auror department has like, three different legends about you, and everybody knows you’re brutal and smart,” and Eggsy’s motormouth is going on automatic now, stumbling something awful, but the look on Harry’s face is worth it, where he looks like a broken window, open and vulnerable and his emotions plain on his face. “But, shit, Harry—you’re just a bloke with an owl named Mr. Pickle because you’re shite at naming stuff, and you bake to de-stress. You’re just the most incredible thing that happened to me.”

“Eggsy,” Harry says, quiet. He catches Eggsy’s wrist and presses a kiss to Eggsy’s palm.

“And I love you, you daft bastard, I fucking love you so much,” Eggsy says, and he’s not crying during sex, fuck you very much, but he kind of hiccups through his declarations of love and feels his vision blur a bit, the past five years of wanting Harry finally crashing down on him, dissolving in his bloodstream, melting under Harry’s touch.

He lifts his hips so Harry can drag Eggsy’s underwear off, hooks his own fingers into Harry’s briefs to get them off as well. He keeps repeating himself, saying _I love you, I love you, I love you_ because he doesn’t want to be the only weepy tool in bed, because Harry growls when he says it, bites bruises into Eggsy that he wants to wear forever. Because Harry looks like he needs the words just as much as Eggsy does.

“If I could love you for more than a lifetime, I would,” Harry says, and swallows Eggsy’s cock down.

“Don’t _say_ things like that, fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” Eggsy whines.

Harry hums around Eggsy’s cock—he has no gag reflex, oh god, Eggsy just might really die—and Eggsy yelps, his hips nearly flying off the bed. Harry holds him down, hands firm on Eggsy’s hips, and when Harry looks up his lashes, pupils blown and hair falling into his eyes, he looks savage, hungry even with Eggsy’s prick in his mouth. 

“I love you,” Eggsy says, just because he can, and Harry raises an eyebrow and does something with his tongue that makes the world go white for a minute.

By the time Eggsy’s brain kicks back online, Harry’s crawling over him with a smug look on his face, the vulnerability gone like it was never there. “Stop preening,” Eggsy mumbles, his breath wheezing out of him when Harry settles his weight on him, nudging their lips together in a blatant plea for a kiss.

Eggsy opens up for the kiss, slots their lips together, then makes an indignant noise when Harry shoves a mouthful of come into Eggsy’s mouth. Harry keeps Eggsy still with a firm hand to his jaw, keeping Eggsy’s mouth open, sharing the bitter taste of jizz and forcing Eggsy to swallow half of it before sucking the rest from Eggsy’s tongue.

“That was rank,” Eggsy complains when Harry finally leans away.

“So you don’t like how you taste?” Harry asks, and Eggsy’d be lying through his teeth if he said he didn’t, so instead he decides that turnabout is fair play. He manages to gain leverage with his elbow below him, pushes up and shoves Harry down to the side so that their positions are reversed, Eggsy hovering over Harry with a triumphant smirk on his face.

“I think I’d rather find out what you taste like,” Eggsy says, delighting in the growl that Harry emits at that. 

“Then what are you waiting for?” Harry asks. Smiles.

Eggsy’s heart falls from Eggsy’s chest right into Harry’s. Where it belongs. “You,” Eggsy says. “Been waiting for you to come home to me.”

Harry sucks in a breath, reaches up to cradle Eggsy’s face with both of his hands. Says, “Eggsy, I do not know how to save myself from you, and I do not wish to. It would be my absolute pleasure to be utterly ruined by you.”

“Fuckin’ sap,” Eggsy says. “For the record? Me too, old man.”

-

When Eggsy wakes up, he feels well-loved and cherished, his entire body adorned with bruises and bites, hot with the memory of Harry’s touch, and the favor’s been well-returned. Harry’s blinking at him, looking pretty ravished, if Eggsy says so himself.

“Good morning,” Harry says. He looks _great_ with sex hair.

“Morning, sunshine,” Eggsy says back. He shouldn’t be smiling so wide this early in the morning, he’ll pull a muscle or something, but fuck it, he’s happy. And Harry’s smiling, too, so it’s not like Eggsy’s the only fool in bed today.

Eggsy’s considering going under the covers to give Harry a blowjob when he remembers something.

“Classes start again in three weeks, yeah?” 

“Unfortunately,” Harry says. 

“I can’t go visit you, then,” Eggsy says, because he has a pretty finicky work schedule and he can’t Apparate to Hogwarts anyway. Harry’s going to live there nearly year-round. “I mean, we’re both busy people.”

“Mmm,” Harry says, tracing a lazy line down Eggsy’s throat. It sends all kinds of pleasant shivers down Eggsy’s spine. “You do still remember the secret passages?”

“Harry, you can’t smuggle me in for a booty call!” Eggsy laughs, startled. “You’re such a terrible teacher sometimes.”

“Fun kind of troublemaker, if you recall,” Harry reminds him. His hands sneaks under the covers, heading for the kind of naughty places that should definitely be detention-worthy. 

Eggsy writhes, gasping at the touch. “Merlin will kill me if I sneak into Hogwarts.”

Harry hums. “Of course, I could just register you as my domestic partner, which would give you a free pass to access the castle and my private quarters at all times, not to mention that if you do the same with HR at the Ministry of Magic, I believe Merlin would be willing to accommodate our schedules.”

"You could have just said that first," Eggsy says, aiming for indignant and missing by a mile when Harry twists his fingers just right.

"I could have, but that wouldn't be as fun." Harry smirks.

"Shut up," Eggsy laughs, and when he leans in to steal a kiss and Harry lets him, he knows he's finally home.

**Author's Note:**

> writing tumblr: [divineprojectzero](http://divineprojectzero.tumblr.com)  
> main tumblr: [listentotheshityousay](http://listentotheshityousay.tumblr.com)  
> twitter: [@listento_yousay](http://twitter.com/listento_yousay)


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